Alessandro DeLuca

“Sal, when a man steals from me, it’s not enough for me to just kill him. I steal from him too. I steal what’s most precious to him.”

Salvatore’s eyes widen, and tears pool in them. “Please…don’t hurt her. She’s got nothing to do with this. I swear!”

My eyebrows lift slightly, and I stare at this dead man. “Doesn’t fucking matter to me. As long as everyone gets the message, that’s all that matters. Seeing how you won’t be alive to share it, I’ll ensure it gets shared.”

“Oh god! What do you want from me? Anything! Name it!”

“Bring her back,” I order, and Bones nods and leaves the room. Santino’s not far behind him.

I look to Knuckles. “Roll him back in the room and tape his goddamn mouth shut.”

“Sure, Boss, but you know you can’t hear anything outside this room.”

“Yeah, but do you want to watch him whine while I handle my business?”

“Got it, Boss,” Knuckles says, rolling Salvatore to the sound-proofed room behind us.

A knock at the door announces Bones’ return with the woman in question.

“Come in,” I call out.

When the door opens, Fiore Esposito steps inside wearing a short black knit dress and gold high-heel shoes. She looks like a fucking hooker. I don’t know why Sal lets his wife out of the house looking like she does most days. If I had a wife, I’d kill her for dressing this way and any man who blinked in her direction.

“I heard you wanted to see me,” she says, trying to sound shy as she stands in the doorway.

With my fingers facing me, I beckon her, and she sashays in my direction.

“Care for a glass of Scotch?” I ask, holding up the other glass.

“Sure.”

I pour the Scotch and light a cigarette for her. I don’t smoke and despise women who do, but I know that she does.

“You guys struggling?”

“I told you already,” she says between puffs as her eyes narrow on me through the smoke.

“What’s wrong? I’m not paying Sal enough?”

Flipping a poker chip between my fingers, my comment is casual, as if I’m not interested in the answer.

“Well, he could use a little more, I guess. But I don’t think it would make a difference,” she laughs nervously.

“Why’s that?”

She snorts an unladylike sound. “Case you hadn’t realized, Sal’s not the best at managing finances.”

I turn my lips down and nod my head.

“I mean, he’s just not good at managing the household finances,” she corrects, shaking her head and taking another puff.

“Too bad. He needs to do better by a woman like you,” I say, narrowing my gaze and finishing my Macallan.

“You’d think.”

“A man who messes over his finances might not be good at caring for his woman’s needs either.”

Her mouth looks tacky, with the painted pink lipstick turned into a crude smile.